jenpet, for March Question Month, asked:

• If you could live anywhere in the world, (with no worries about income – ya know, the ultimate pipedream), where would you and Melen really like to live?

I want to live in Ireland.  Or the perfect Ireland replica with my own laws.  That would be cool.

M… M says He wants to live on the Lost island minus the time jumps and smoke monsters.  O.o

Dweaver asked:

• What’s your most/least favorite pain toy when it’s used on you?

My most and least favorite are the same thing.  The Delrin Cane.  I’m not really sure what’s wrong with me, but there it is.

• Have you ever done electric play of any kind? If so, what did you think about it? If not, do you want to at some point?

If, by electric play, you mean standing in a puddle whilst unplugging a refrigerator that’s spewing coolant and having “lightning” shoot from the corner of your eye to the back of said fridge, then yes.  I’ve done electric play.  If not, then I guess the answer must be no.  ~ducks~

I’m kinda intrigued and a little scared at the same time.  I mean, that shock I got? While it didn’t really hurt, per se, it was rather weird feeling.  That feeling intentionally? I’m not sure.  The jury’s still out.

• What celeb do you fantasize the most about Melen lending you to, and how does he or she use you in your thoughts?

I dunno.  That’s a serious toss up.  I mean, on the one hand, Greg Grunberg is that “every day Joe” kind of beautiful and I would just die for him to even notice me, much less borrow me from M.  On the other hand, Christian Bale is Ken doll beautiful in that “American Psycho” kinda way (I guess that makes sense since he starred in that movie.) and just picturing his face makes me wet my panties.

And then there’s Kevin Smith.  Ahhh… Kevin Smith.

I’m such a weirdo.  Aren’t girls supposed to be creaming their panties over, like… Tom Cruise or something?

Anyway… I’m not very creative in the use.  Usually I play the trophy girl for a little while, and then I have my face ground into what I really am: a fuck toy.  And boys can do whatever they want with their fuck toys.  Can you imagine what those boys would want to do with theirs? Mmm….

Because I can’t think of anything to blog about today besides the post I made on Mindcryme, I stole this from Kaya, who stole it from Subtle.  I haven’t read anyone’s answers because I didn’t want mine to be swayed.  Yeah… I’m that lame.

1. Your role?

Slave

2. Current relationship?

I’m married to my owner.

3. Your favourite type of play?

When He doesn’t let my screams deter Him.  The satisfaction from a scene like that is indescribable.

4. Your most hated type of play?

When He coaxes me into believing that He’s going to be nice to me, then turns on me.  That sends me into a tailspin for a while.  But He always brings me back to Him.

5. The most annoying habit of your owner/slave/whatever you call your SO?

Working.  He is, without a doubt, a work-a-holic.  He’ll tell you He’s just responsible.  But it goes so far beyond just being responsible…

I love Him for it.  It keeps a roof over my head, and food in my belly, while I sit here behind a computer and hack at fulfilling my dream of being a writer.  But I wish He’d give Himself a break.  He deserves it.

6. Your deepest fear?

Dying.

Which is bizarre because I used to long for death like you wouldn’t believe.  If I wasn’t trying to commit suicide, I was begging God (At the time, I was still Christian.  Most junkies are.) to take my life, and then cursing Him each morning when I woke.

I would lay in bed for hours willing myself to stop breathing and concentrating on slowing my heart.  I’d take baths just so I could sink under the water and try to drown myself.  I’d walk the streets in the worst neighborhoods alone hoping someone would see the open invitation to take my life.

But now? Now, I see how much life has to offer.  And I’m petrified of losing mine before I’m ready.  Read more…

Yes, they gave me posting privileges here, there goes the neighbourhood

I guess I should follow my kitti and do the whole introduction thing. Be prepared, I’m not a talking blogging entity so tend to both waffle and jump around subjects

Yeah, me, pushing 40, English, one time transatlantic commuter, all round bad guy.

Pushing 40? Yes that makes me pretty much old enough to be her father, and I don’t care. If anything I think that actually enhances the distance I want between us. Yes, distance is the aim rather than closeness.

Some of the basics have already been covered in her introduction and a couple of my comments on it. I will save you all the boredom of my life history for now, suffice to say its quite un-average, and certainly not for the faint hearted. Yes its made me jaded and cynical, but also quite thankful too for some things.

I’m poly, as well as kitti there are two other girls in my life, but they are going to be mainly left out of this, there are many blogs about service types, and more than a few about the daddy/girl relationship such as I have with my primary. I’m going to concentrate here on the kitti relationship as its one that’s more unusual, more likely to attract discussion. I will likely as often as not post other random rants too, until my gracious hosts come to their senses and kick me out I’m also partly of the mind that not much gets said from this side of the fence, lots of slavey blogs that try to explain what the one in charge might be thinking or doing, so here is a chance for you to get some straight from the horses mouth.

Now the relationship, that’s what you all want to hear about. Its very atypical, even for bdsm practitioners, it will be, and already is very one sided, affection, power, responsibility, all rest almost entirely in one of us but not the other. None of this first amongst equals or sharing stuff.

So how did this all start?  Read more…

Huzzah! The kitti has landed!

First off… a big thank you to Melen and to rayne for inviting me over here. very flattering and it’ll be nice to blog somewhere with friends.

I suppose a first post should be somewhat of an introduction?

So I’m kitti… I’m English. At the time of writing this, I am 23. I am… undefinable.

I have been  kinky for all of my sexual life. My first foray into kink outside of the slightly bent vanilla stuff was in late 2005. I met up with someone via bondage.com and he caned me, flogged me, held me by the throat, cropped me and introduced me to retraints, decorative bondage and erotic photography.

I was well and truly bitten by the BDSM bug. I visited with him several times over the next couple of years and he introduced me to a few other things like clamps and knife play and choking.

During this time I explored the interwebz! Somebody sent me to castlerealm.com and they mentioned IRC. I googled IRC and BDSM and found irc.bdsm-net.com.

Ended up doing a long-distance relationship with someone in Alaska… Wore his collar for  a little under two years, spent my 21st birthday with him watching wildlife amongst the glaciers, spent new year’s eve in the snow in AK… Lovely..

That relationship ended, in part, because I needed more control and ownership than he was comfortable with. The subsequent relationship was very much Owner/pet. For a year or so, I was happily collared and, with him, I discovered my need for the darker elements of play.

With him I discovered a fondness for knives, blood, rape, slapping, choking and the harsher sides of control. With him I realised I needed ownership, plain and simple.

I am now in such a relationship.  My relationship with DK (daddy_keeper) differs from the others on this site because it is an asexual, unloving one. DK has a primary partner (referred to as M) with whom he is in love. He also has control over another girl (P) who fulfils a service and a masochist role. I believe she falls into the role of non-romantic slave.

I fall into whatever role DK puts me in. I am his property.

I feel I should use this post as a bit of a disclaimer. A lot of my writing will contain subject matter that some people may feel uncomfortable reading. It involves a lot of violence (the first time we played, he broke my rib), a lot of conditioning and a lot of brain washing. I don’t have limits, I don’t have a safeword and I certainly cannot walk away from this relationship. To most people, the places we are going to go would be considered abuse. It’s not for us. Abuse cannot exist in this relationship.

rayne referred to us as extreme… It’s probably not a bad word. It’s just not how we see it. It’s the only way we can relate to each other. Please don’t be alarmed, please be constructive with your comments. I don’t mind if you don’t agree with me but please don’t tell me I am being abused… I’ve covered that here.  Please don’t tell me I can leave… I’ve covered that.

Other than that… Feel free to comment on any rambling and if I mix words up, please don’t point it out. Chances are that I’ve already noticed and kicked myself for it! See you in the comments!

Standard procedure in most addiction treatment centers or mental health units is to have the patients use some art medium to create a self-portrait or show how they’re feeling.  In the year and a half that the ATCs and MHUs were a revolving door for me, I made no less than six self-portraits and twenty-two drawings and paintings showing how I felt.  Some were more extravagant than others.  Some more confused.  And you can definitely tell where my mind was when I did them.

I only kept one.  I’m not sure where it is, now.  Probably in a box somewhere, if I didn’t throw it away when we moved this last time.  “The rapist” told us to draw a picture showing who we are.  And almost nine years later, what I drew is still ridiculously fresh in my mind.

First, I drew an outline of some random chick’s head.  And for some reason, I cut her completely in half.  Not with a line or a pair of scissors.  Just with the way I drew her.

On one side, she looked mostly normal.  Scattered among the facial features were a few flaws: A gun, some pills, a tangled mess of an accident.  But she had normal hair the same color as mine, a big blue eye and half a nose.

“The rapist” asked me what kind of mouth I was going to give her.  And I shrugged before drawing half a mouth showing no expression and then a broken heart on the other side.  I drew headstones for her other eye with tears and blood falling from them.

I drew snakes coming out the other half of her head.  Four living babies and two dead, some boxing gloves, a couple bottles of booze.  A couple joints, a pack of cigarettes and… I remember drawing this ginormous red circle with a line through it over something.  But I don’t remember what it was.

I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life and couldn’t fit it all on one piece of poster board.  So I drew what felt important.  Then I sat back and stared at it for a moment.  And I wondered if this really was who I am.   Read more…